Higher Stakes
by crimescenelover
Summary: A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against an enemy from the past. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.
1. Through Devil's Eyes

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Through Devil's Eyes

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against an enemy from the past. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **Hi!  
This is my first attempt to make a Mission Impossible fanfic. And I've tried to keep every fact true and accurate (like protocols, and stuff like that), and I think it is a bit hard, considering the films don't show much on how they operate in such situations … Or maybe they do, and I haven't been listening. Oh well, I've tried my best! So I hope you will enjoy this story! :D

Btw; all of the chapter names are song-titles from the band Two Steps from Hell. They make awesome instrumental-music. If you are one of those who haven't heard them, do so! It's worth it! And if you are one of those who have; then you know what I'm talking about! ;)  
This is a Brandt-centric story, but it features the whole team.

Updates will be made once or twice a week :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Mission: Impossible or anything related thereto … unfortunately.

Enjoy!

"_Nothing is as new as something which has been long forgotten"_

* * *

_**Location: Egypt.**_

The dry Egyptian air flowed through the windowless frames and played with the torn pieces of fabric that hardly qualified to being called curtains. It warmed up the small house (it was actually more of an old shack, than a house) to such extent that they worried the computers would break down at any minute.

IMF-agent Ethan Hunt sat by a worn kitchen table and was cleaning his gun calmly. Benji Dunn sat on the sofa by the far end of the room, staring at the computer screen in front of him, clicking away on the keyboard. Jane Carter was taking a much needed shower, after getting up close and personal with a world-class playboy.

And William Brandt was several miles away, getting a hold on a microchip that they needed for their latest mission.

The weather was hot and the only thing that was worse than the inside temperature was the outside temperature. So, even as IMF-agents, they didn't want to overheat themselves if it wasn't necessary.

It wasn't a complicated mission. But that didn't mean it was easy, though Ethan might have gone so far to say so. He certainly wouldn't except any form for delay on this one.

So his anxiety went sky-high when a knock came on the wooden door. Benji and Jane, who had come out of the bathroom with her damp hair plastered tight to her head, weren't expecting the knock either, as they looked up and locked their eyes with Ethan's. If it was Brandt, he wouldn't have knocked.

So Ethan placed an ammo clip in his gun and held it ready as he neared the door. Benji stood up and took out his gun, while Jane picked up hers from a small shelf and both agents aimed the barrels at the door.

Ethan leaned against the door and listened for any sound of weapons. There was nothing but silence and the faint sound of a running engine. "Yeah?" he called out.

"Agent Ethan Hunt?" a male voice asked from outside.

"Depends on who's asking."

"Agent Johnson, IMF Headquarters," the voice said.

Ethan knew better than to just open the door with a greeting smile, but since the door didn't have a peep-hole, he had no choice but to open it. But he trusted his team to be his back-up in case it was a trap.

Slowly he opened up, ever so slightly, and peeked out, gun ready to fire. He was met with credentials that resembled more an FBI-badge than IMF. Maybe it was because the IMF wasn't really supposed to exist to anyone other than the agents involved. So it wasn't everyday you saw badges with IMF-identifications on it.

On the badge was the name 'Agent Oliver Johnson" along with a picture of a man who looked to be in his late-thirties. His short black hair was flat, his chin clean-shaven, and his green eyes looked lazily into the camera lens that had taken the picture. When Ethan raised his eyes he stared into the same man on the picture, only his hair was messier and sticking out in some places. He was dressed in a black suit, and his normally blank shoes were already covered in sand.

Ethan let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He opened the door some more so that the agent outside could enter. "Don't just stand there and look pretty, then. You're drawing unwanted attention to yourself and us," Ethan muttered. Johnson quickly walked into the shack and Ethan closed the door slowly, after taking a quick survey of the streets, making sure no one had noticed.

He turned around to face Jane and Benji who were eyeing the new person in the room suspiciously. "Oliver Johnson, IMF-headquarters," he quickly introduced, as he placed his weapon back on the kitchen table from where he took it. Out of his hands, but still within reach if he should need it.

Jane was the one who broke the silence that had enveloped the small house. "To what do we owe the pleasure, agent Johnson?" Her voice was thick with suspicion and with a hint of disbelief. To her, those kind of visits from HQ normally meant bad news. She hadn't experienced anything good come out of those yet … not that she had been involved in many yet.

"I need to speak with Agent Brandt."

"Well, he isn't here at the moment. He should arrive any minute though," Jane answered coolly.

"Two minutes and twenty-four seconds to be exact," Benji put in, speaking for the first time since Johnson entered the room. He had seated himself again, staring at the screens.

"What do you want with agent Brandt?" Ethan asked.

Johnson sighed and put his hands in his suit pockets. "There was a breach in the IMF Headquarters' computers yesterday morning. It was minor, and we managed to seal it within seconds. However … the small details the perpetrators did manage to get away with were information, sore information, about certain ops."

"What kind of information?" Jane asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Johnson turned to her: "Alias's, locations, personal information about the agents involved."

"And they got Brandt's file?" Ethan tried to clarify. He eyed the agent before him. Nothing went unnoticed: The way he held himself high, the way his fingers never twitched or tried to fiddle with whatever they could get in contact with and his calm gaze that studied every living being in the room. Ethan got somewhat restless, his senses tickling slightly. Something wasn't right.

"Some of it, yes. They took a certain interest in an operation called "Operation Snowstorm," Johnson leaned his shoulder against the wall to his right, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Ethan would have thought the agent simply didn't care, if it wasn't for his lightly faster-than-normal breathing. Something was defiantly not right.

"Do you believe he is in danger?" he asked. His rising concern for his agent matched his desire to see this agent's response.

"We don't know yet. But it's best to take precautions," Johnson simply replied.

Just as Benji had said, Brandt stalked trough the door precisely two minutes and twenty-four seconds later, looking slightly sweaty, carrying a suitcase in his right hand, which he placed on the kitchen table. He looked at the three other agents in the room with a questioning gaze.

"Is this some sort of secret intervention? In that case I think it could wait until we are done here," he said lightly, his eyes not leaving the stranger that hadn't been there when he left.

Johnson lifted himself off the wall and once again held up his credentials. "Agent Johnson, IMF-headquarters."

Brandt turned his head slightly sideways and squinted at the man before him. "Okay and what is going on?"

"You have to report back at HQ, until further notice."

"What? Why?" Brandt asked, looking puzzled.

"'Operation Snowstorm' has been compromised, agent Brandt."

Brandt froze up completely; even his breathing seemed to stop.

Ethan, seeing the uncertainty crossing over Brandt's face, walked up next to his team mate. "But as even the secretary knows, we have an on-going mission that is a matter of national security."

Johnson turned an icy glare towards the older IMF-agent.

"Every mission is a matter of national security." He then turned back to Brandt. "Listen to me agent: Agent Williams has been killed…"

Brandt's eyes turned big and every muscle in his body tensed up, but Johnson didn't seem to notice. Either that or he just didn't care. "It isn't safe for you to walk around in the streets."

"Since when does the IMF care about personal safety?" Jane quipped in.

Johnson didn't answer at first, nor did he get the chance, as Brandt spoke up, his voice silent but demanding. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

"Yes. I'll bring you up to speed on our way back, but the sooner you get off the streets, the sooner you can get back on them again."

"Then let's go," Brandt said and turned around to find his bag, seeing it was where he had dumped it.

"Are you sure?" Ethan asked as he followed him. He hadn't missed the smirk that had seemed to spread over Johnson's face when Brandt had agreed. But it disappeared before Ethan had a chance to figure out what the smirk had meant.

Brandt packed the small amount of things he had with him into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Yeah, it'll be fun," he mumbled, his tone showing he didn't believe his own words. "The microchip is in the suitcase. It should be able to take down Mahmoud," he continued as he walked towards the door, where agent Johnson waited.

"Hey," Ethan called.

Brandt turned around, his eyes showing the bit of fear the rest of his body didn't.

"Just be careful."

Brandt's mouth twisted into a small smile. "Just take those bastards down. I didn't lay my ass on the line for you guys to go shrew it up."

With that he followed agent Johnson out of the door and it closed behind him, cutting off the shining sun.

* * *

_**Location: Egypt.**_

Mahmoud Masarti had been too naïve. Maybe it was because most people didn't live to meet him face to face to strike a deal. When Ethan had showed up with a fancy looking suitcase, containing a microchip, Mahmoud had called it a deal. They had exchanged money and what he thought was top-secret codes, they had a team to move in and take down Mahmoud and his men with a blink of an eye. It was over within minutes. With the treat taken down so easily, it made Ethan wonder why there had been sent four agents instead of one. Of course the planning and getting the microchip had been the difficult part and everyone had had to work together.

They had called it a day, and went back to their small house to pack up their stuff. An hour after they had arrived, Ethan's phone rang. Puzzled, the agent stopped stuffing his clothes into the duffel bag, and looked at the screen. '_Restricted number_'

"Mr. Secretary?" Ethan asked when he picked up. He didn't know anyone else who knew the numbers to his phone AND called with a restriction.

"_Agent Hunt. I trust you have been briefed about the current situation,_" the Secretary's voice said. No formal introductions, no greeting of any kind … Just straight to the point as always.

"We have."

"_Then Agent Brandt should have checked in by now. Why hasn't he?_"

Ethan swallowed the horrible feeling he had had in his stomach since he let Johnson inside the house. "I wouldn't know. Agent Johnson picked him up …"

"_Agent Johnson? I send agent Brandt's former team leader, agent Williams. Involving any other agent would prove too dangerous._"

"I'm sorry what?" Ethan couldn't believe his own ears. Had they, Brandt's own team, just sent him into the hellfire?

"_Agent Johnson isn't supposed to be anywhere near this matter. The breach is only for the ears of those involved in 'Operation Snowstorm'._"

"Then how does Johnson know about it?" Ethan demanded. He wanted answers. He wanted to know how one of the most secret agencies in the world managed to get breached and loose an agent all in the matter of days, and not one knew what was going on.

"_The breach could only have happened from the inside. So it's possible Johnson has played a hand in all of this."_

"I need to know everything about 'Operation Snowstorm'."

"_I can't do that, Ethan. At this point, I don't know who is involved._"

"So we just sit here and do nothing?"

"_I'm sorry, Ethan …_"

Hunt just hung up and placed the phone on his table. He glared at the device with such hatred, as if the entire blame fell on the phone and he wanted to break it for being so dumb.

* * *

_**Location: Unknown.**_

The small dripping of leaking pipes were the first thing that reached his senses. The small sound of water that landed on the ground every few seconds was almost enough to lull him back into the darkness where he came from.

But just before he retrieved, a hot stinging pain shot over his cheek. His eyes shot open. A dull headache lurked in his skull, and the slap he had just received did nothing to ease it away. All of his senses slowly returned and he noticed more and more about his surroundings. The ground he was sitting on was hard and uncomfortable. As were his wrists and ankles and they refused to move when he asked them to. Confused his looked down. He wasn't sitting on the ground, he was sitting in a wooden chair and his hands were bound to the arm rests and his ankles were secured to the chair's two front legs.

The room he was in was windowless as far as he could tell, and the walls were gray and decayed. Spider webs filled the top corners, while the bottom corners were filled with sandy dust. It stank of sand mixed with rotting wood. A smell Brandt's nose did not appreciate.

It was only when he had inspected his surroundings that he felt a presence in the room. He knew someone had to be there. Unless he had imagined the slap. The headache he was sporting could certainly lend a helping hand with that.

He looked up and saw a man standing in front of him, eyeing him up like a lion would a lamb. It wasn't just any man. It was Agent Johnson, his lips forming into an arrogant smile.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

* * *

**Uh-oh. Our little Brandt is in a bit of a pickle. There you have the first chapter. I hope you liked it. If you did, review. If not … review anyway! I love reviews! Really … I do. I really, really do! :D**


	2. Gateway to Oblivion

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Gateway to Oblivion

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **Before we move on to the next chapter, I would like to thank those who reviewed: Genevieve Kelly, Acrylate (Guest), Guest, Audrey Whyte, Sabsi13, Bam31 (Guest), casus17, Missy92, Gingerjam (Guest).  
And also thanks to TheMostRandomOfRandomWriters , Genevieve Kelly, DevinBourdain, Moon Spirt, lisaelle, Sabsi13, Janechen88, I Still Believe In Heros, casus17, blackdog-lz, magicalmarvelousmrmistoffele es, Faustine68 and darkcelestial20 for following, both story and me as an author.

And lastly, thanks to kira2127, I Still Believe In Heros, Janechen88, Missy92 Faustine68 for adding my story to their favorite list.  
Let me know if I forgot anyone, because that is not my intention! But thank you! Really! It means a lot! :D

Expect next update either Sunday or Monday next week … depends of how work and school will collide

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Mission: Impossible, or Jeremy Renner, which makes me very sad.

"_If you look back too much, you will soon be headed that way"_

* * *

_**Location: Unknown. **_

He knew something had been wrong from the minute they were at the airport. Not just 'he-was-compromised'-kind-of-wrong, but 'something-was-about-to-go-bad'-kind-of-wrong. It was usually the kind of wrong that followed Ethan Hunt, and not himself.

Of course he shouldn't have believed 'Agent Johnson', when he had asked him why they didn't take a direct flight to Washington. Of course he shouldn't have bought his, now that he was thinking about it, ridiculous excuse that it would have been too obvious, and too easy for his enemies to track if they did. He should have figured out something was fishy when, instead of taking a flight that flew into the States, they took a flight to South America.

Brandt didn't know how long he had been out. All he remembered was stepping out of the airport in Peru, being lead to a deserted car park, a blinding pain smashing into his head, and then nothing. They could have sailed to Africa for all he knew.

But it didn't matter where he was. Because he was alone. There was no team to come and pick him up, and no one waiting outside to door to come save him. Sure, someone should have noticed he hadn't checked in at IMF Headquarters, but that was all the information they were going to get. If someone went through the crap-load of trouble of posing as an IMF-team just to get him, they would know how to cover their tracks.

Johnson, who was standing in front of him, had lost his black suit in favor to a pair of dusty cargo pants and a tight-fitting Kevlar vest covering a green T-shirt. A gun was strapped to his hip and he wore fingerless gloves. The two men guarding the closed metal door behind, was dressed in a similar fashion, except instead of a small gun, each of them carried an automatic rifle.

"Did you sleep well? I hope the ropes weren't too uncomfortable," Johnson said, his smirk never leaving his face.

"I'll tell you when I can feel my fingers again," Brandt casually replied.

He was scared about what was about to happen, but tried his best to keep it from showing on his face. He feared deeply that it was indeed related to 'Operation Snowstorm', but he prayed to whoever was listening that it had all been a method to get him to cooperate easier. The last thing he needed was a repeat of that mission. It was one of the few that topped over his first mission with Ethan a year ago. It had gone to hell and back, and it was only by a miracle that he had made it out.

It wasn't something Brandt wished to repeat.

* * *

_**Location: Egypt.**_

Ethan had quickly filled in Jane and Benji to their current situation after he had hung up on the Secretary. It felt like some weird déjà-vu: They were alone again and couldn't count on the IMF's help. But this time there seemed to be so much more at stake than just national security. This time a friend's life was on the line.

The heat pressed down on everyone in the shack, but it was nothing compared to the tension that had spread after the Secretary's phone call. And the silence was even worse.

"So what do we do?" Benji asked, nervous about breaking the smothering silence. "We can't just sit here and do nothing, can we?"

"No," Ethan said from where he was standing leaned against a pillar. His eyes, which had been lost in thought, snapped back over to the Brit. "Benji, can you break into the IMF-files without getting caught?"

"You're kidding me right? Of course I can, just give me a minute." He typed viciously for a few seconds, let out a small curse about high-security, before a smile of victory passed over his face. "There you go. What are you looking for?"

"Find the one labeled 'Operation Snowstorm'," Ethan commanded, leaning in to watch the files spill out in Benji's screen.

"Got it," Benji said. He typed a few seconds before he frowned. "Okay, the file is encrypted. I can crack it, but it's going to take some time."

"Do it," Ethan ordered. A little thing like an encrypted file wasn't going to hold them back. "We need to know every detail about that op. Nothing is insignificant, every small detail is important. Leave no stone unturned. Our mission is getting Brandt back alive."

"Shouldn't the Secretary know about this?" Jane asked.

"The infiltration was an inside-job. Other than "agent Johnson" we have no idea who else is involved," Ethan said. "Right now … the Secretary can't trust anyone. And neither can we. Not even the Secretary himself."

* * *

"What do you want with me?" Brandt breathed. He was getting tired of the stirring contest he and Johnson where having. It had been a test of will the first half hour, but now Brandt had gotten restless and his nerves were getting the better of him.

"Patience, Agent Brandt. Good things come to those who wait," Johnson merely replied, looking as relaxed as ever.

"Good things, you say? You are going to untie me in a minute then?" Brandt said, the sarcasm concealed the little bit of hope that hung in those words. Of course, he knew, there was no way in hell that was going to happen. He smiled at his own words, nonetheless.

"I'm afraid that's too much to hope for," the imposter before him answered.

"Who are you?" Brandt tried a different approach.

"You shouldn't be focusing on me, Agent."

"And why not?" Brandt asked, his voice demanding. "You drag me across the ocean, and then expect me to just sit still like a good little doggie? That's not gonna work."

The man's eyes turned to daggers, and he stalked over to Brandt's chair and grabbed a fierce hold in his hair. Brandt winced as he was forced to look him. "I said, you shouldn't focus on me," Johnson hissed. "Instead you should be focusing on _who _paid _me_ to get you all the way out here."

"Then tell me."

A fist landed on his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Then the hand returned to pull the roots of his hair again. "I already told you … Patience, Agent Brandt."

Johnson released his grip and walked back to his original spot; right in front of the metal door. The little act of violence he had just portrayed was wiped away. It seemed gone like the wind. Before Brandt stood the same person who had brought him here: Calm, collected and self-satisfied.

And it honestly pissed Brandt off. If there was any type of criminal he resented it was those guys. Those guys who expected the world to fall before them. Those guys who had no doubt in their mind they were made to rule. Those guys who switched between being calm and being impatient and violent. Unfortunately, it was those guys IMF usually dealt with. And he was starting to get sick of it. He was still waiting for the mission that wouldn't contain such guys. He was positive that someday it would come.

Johnson tilted his head, inspecting the bound agent before him.

Brandt stopped his train of thought, containing missions that probably wasn't going to happen, and met his captor's gaze. He was really growing tired of this patience game. "You still haven't answered my question. What do you want with me? Why am I here? Who are you really? Is there anything you can tell me about your little master plan?" he finally asked.

"It really isn't about you, Agent Brandt," Johnson smirked. "Or me for that matter," he added, thoughtfully.

Brandt frowned.

Almost like an answer to his unspoken question, the metal door got unlocked and the door opened. "He is right. It is about me," an accented voice said from the dark. Brandt froze. He could recognize that voice anywhere. He swallowed, trying to hide his fear.

A shadow moved from the door opening and walked into the room with such arrogance that Brandt didn't even have to think twice about who it was.

The man who was responsible for one of the most nightmarish missions he had ever been on, one that, at times, still haunted his dreams at night.

Jolan Kumaskoff, the head of the terrorist organization that called for 'Operation Snowstorm' and Brandt's prayers went crashing to the ground.

**So who is this Jolan Kumaskoff? And what does he want with Agent Brandt? And what is 'Operation Snowstorm'? - All this will be answered in the next chapter … Most of it anyway :D **

**So show your support to Brandt, give him a hug and leave a review! It makes him feel a lot better! :D **


	3. Fragments of Deception

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Fragments of Deception

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **So this chapter just tells the story of operation Snowstorm and how it went wrong. It's a crappy mission that went wrong in so many ways, so it takes up a lot of space; So don't count on a presence from the team or present-Brandt :p - It will come later though, so bear with me!  
_FYI_:Bely is a city on a Russian Island, and funny enough the name means 'white' in Russian. And since the mission is called 'Operation Snowstorm' I thought it was quite convenient. And since the island is up north and remote, it makes the perfect location for crime ;)

Thanks to Missy92, Magicalmarvelousmrmistoffele es, Genevieve Kelly, shila1378, casus17, Heroicfantasyfan, bear0215 (Guest) and dustriver (Guest) for reviewing.

Thanks to astridy, shila1378, Heroicfantasyfan and SPN4eva556 for following.

Thanks to shila1378 and SPN4eva556 for favouriting.

**Disclaimer: **Again, I do not own anything; this is strictly for entertainment purposes.

"_Man... cannot learn to forget, but hangs on the past: however far or fast he runs, that chain runs with him"_

* * *

_**6 years ago - Location: Bely, Russia. **_

"Alpha, I'm in position," Agent William Brandt said, into his comm. unit. He adjusted himself on the bench he was lying on. He made sure to cover his head with his arm, so it looked like he was just another drunk in the streets, which there were surprisingly many of, considering how small the Russian city was from the main land.

"_Copy that, Beta. Stay in position until further notice. We cannot lose this man._"

"Copy that," Brandt sighed. He knew how important this mission was, which was why he was currently sporting a small sweat on his forehead. If anyone got a good look on his face they would probably grow suspicious when they spotted his shining forehead, since the snow piles were only growing in the streets.

Their target was Jolan Kumaskoff, a dangerous man who had gained far more power than necessary. He had started out as a small local drug dealer, but one lucky strike and he managed to fight his way to the top, and now, drugs weren't his only commodity. Soon he was accepted as a high member of the Russian mob, and achieved connections in the national police and with politicians.

Of course, along as his power rose, it didn't take long for Kumaskoff to land himself on the IMF watch list. But it was hard, as no one had managed a descent description of the Russian and he was good at staying off the radar.

But now they had received enough information to finally send in a team, and stop him once and for all. And it was just in time too; inside knowledge had suggested Kumaskoff planned on releasing a nerve gas in Moscow, developed in his private labs, and put the blame on the United States.

A World War 3 could very well begin if he wasn't stopped. So IMF needed to step in, and somehow Brandt was honored that he was one of four agents who had been selected for the mission.

He was especially honored to be working with Donald Williams as the team leader. Besides from Ethan Hunt he was one of the best agents the IMF had ever had. Maybe even better than Ethan Hunt: he didn't end up in all those sticky situations. Of course Brandt had only heard rumors regarding Hunt, not the true stories. But maybe if he was lucky, he could work alongside Hunt one day too. But for now, Brandt was content with working with Williams. He defiantly lived up to his rumor.

The two other agents were Billy Sanders and Jeremy Bensen.

Their mission was to neutralize Jolan Kumaskoff and his entire organization, and it had to be done with discretion. No one could know what had went down and how; let alone who.

Williams was going to offer his support and assistance to Kumaskoff's plan, and Bensen was acting as his bodyguard. Brandt and Sanders were look-out and acted as back-up in case something went wrong. The plan was pretty simple: Williams was going to get Kumaskoff to lead him to his home base, where they would destroy the base and anything connected to it.

Brandt was lying in a bench with a perfect view to the exchange, while Sanders was pretending to be working on the street. His neon orange vest stood out, placed over his blue overalls, as he pretended to fix a neon sign lying on the ground.

Williams sat at a small round table, trying his best to look as casual as he could, with Bensen sitting behind him. They were both wearing expensive-looking suits. Donald's light gray suit matched his graying black hair and his green eyes. Bensen's suit on the other hand made his blond hair and pale skin stand out even more.

"_Alpha, we have movement_," Sanders' rough voice announced.

True enough, three men walked down the street towards the café where Donald and Jeremy were sitting. It was easy to see who was in charge: the man was walking a step or two in front of the two others, placed at his left and right.

Jolan Kumaskoff was an impressive man: despite his 5"9 he seemed to be towering over his two bodyguards, his shining white hair contrasted with his dark eyes, and his strong jaw was set with determination. Everything about him screamed danger.

"Mr. Johansson I presume?" Jolan asked as he reached the table, his Russian accent shining through in his voice.

"Indeed I am," Williams greeted, and gestured towards the chair opposite his.

Brandt tried his best to look relaxed but the meeting radiated anxiety that stretched out for miles. There were no words that could describe the importance of this meeting. And all Brandt could do was listen and pray something didn't go wrong.

"Do you have my money?" Jolan asked as he sat down in the offered chair, his guards never wavering from his side.

"I do. But you are not going to see a penny unless I see my goods," Williams said.

"What makes you think I would show you anything before I see my money?"

"Because otherwise my money goes to someone else. Frankly I don't care."

Kumaskoff leaned backwards in his chair, eyeing the man before him. "You Americans know your business. Very well." He snapped his fingers and one of the guards took out a small vial and placed it on the table. The vial was filled with a thick blue liquid. A self-satisfied smirk spread on Kumaskoff's face.

Williams picked up the vial and inspected it before putting it down on the table again. "That's very exciting, Mr. Kumaskoff, but if I am going to stick my neck out for you, so should you. I want to see the entire organization, not just a small product."

Brandt held his breath. This was it.

Kumaskoff stared intensely on Williams for a good while, before he suddenly started laughing. It wasn't loud or hysterical; it was more of a low rumbling coming from his stomach. Williams eyed him curiously. The Russian leaned over the table on his arms, his fingers entwined. "You must really believe I am a complete ignorant to believe your little hoax," he said in a low voice, so low Brandt almost missed it. "I didn't get to where I am, if I wasn't skeptical. Now … how about we make a little deal? You tell me who you are working for, and I will let you leave with the next flight out of here."

Brandt resisted the urge to jump up from his spot on the bench and take out the drug dealer not 10 feet away from him. This had just gone from a nervous encounter to a road to hell in a few minutes. But Brandt wouldn't react, neither would Sanders, before Williams gave the safe word. But the team leader wasn't responding. In fact, he wasn't even reacting aside from the frozen deer-caught-in-headlights-look on his face.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Kumaskoff smirked and tilted his head to the side. Then, in an instant, his face changed. Instead of the confident smile was a stone face that masked all of his feelings. His eyes had turned to ice. "Do we have a deal?"

"I don't deal with terrorists," Williams said.

As soon as the word "terrorist" hit Brandt's ears, he sprung into action. He barely even registered Sanders' quick mumble of "_That is our cue!_".

Brandt rolled off the bench and as soon as he was on his feet, he raised his hidden gun. Sanders too raised his weapon he had hidden beneath the neon sign. Kumaskoff's two bodyguards also took out their weapons; one aimed at the two agents several feet away, while the other aimed his at Bensen, who returned the favor by aimed his own weapon at the guard. Kumaskoff himself remained seated across from Williams, smirking from ear to ear. "How about we skip this whole mess and you just tell me who you are working for?" the criminal tried again.

Williams stared him dead in the eye but didn't answer. Brandt didn't like where this was going. Though this island was small and remote, their chances of getting revealed grew with every second. There was no way to know who was watching this showdown. It needed to end, and quickly. They couldn't just start a gun fight. Any drunk or other persons on the street could become collateral damage. Not to say, they themselves could become the collateral damage. Williams and Bensen would be dead before they could pull the trigger for the second time, and Sanders and Brandt wouldn't be far behind them.

Kumaskoff huffed at Williams' silence and leaned in closer. "Very well … If it's going to be like that. Perhaps you should consider _who_ made me skeptical in the first place. You see, I have had many interesting customers who offered me their support and none of them got … let's say violent." The drug dealer leaned backwards into a more comfortable position. "I declined their offer and they walked away, content."

"We will not leave, feeling content."

Kumaskoff shot up from his chair and slammed his palms into the table. "You damn right, you won't. None of you will!" he yelled. He then seemed to relax a little as he snorted and turned his head towards Brandt and Sanders. He looked Sanders dead in the eye. "Well … maybe one of you will."

Bensen turned his gun away from the bodyguard and aimed it at his fellow agent. "It's Sanders!" he yelled. "Get down!"

While Williams threw himself on the ground, Bensen pulled his trigger three times and sent the three bullets flying towards Sanders. But the other IMF agent had already seen it coming and had moved out of the way, and turned his barrel towards Brandt, who instantly dived for cover behind a brick wall. Brandt threw himself on the ground and wormed his way towards the tables. When bullets started to follow his trail he rolled onto his back and fired twice. He didn't even notice if he hit his target; he turned back around and then stopped short in his tracks. He saw Bensen's body fall to the ground, his gun falling from his limp hands.

"No," he whispered and started to run towards the fallen agent, ignoring the bullets that peppered his trail. He fell to his knees in front of the lifeless body. Bensen's eyes were open and staring, dead. A bullet wheezed by his head. He fired four bullets back, neither of them hitting their intended target. He watched as Williams was dragged along to a parked car by Kumaskoff, while the one bodyguard kept firing at Brandt. As soon as all the passengers and the captive were inside, the car took off. Brandt got up from his crouching position and ran after the vehicle, all the while he was shooting. A few bullets penetrated the trunk but the black car sped on, rounded a corner and was then out of sight. Brandt stopped running, panting heavily.

This had just gone to hell. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down. Everything had been planned meticulously, down to every little detail and yet they had been betrayed and now their only shot might be gone. Laughter tore him from his thoughts and he turned around to find the source. Sanders sat on the ground, leaning heavily against a pile of concrete. Blood was dripping from his mouth and his hand covered a bleeding wound in his stomach. "This just went to hell and back …" he laughed as he looked up at Brandt.

Brandt walked closer to him and stopped right in front of him. "Why?" he demanded.

"Why not? If the world is going to war, you might as well have a leg on both sides. Or on none of the sides as it turns out" He laughed at his own joke, but stopped halfway when a cough interrupted him.

"You think this is funny? Bensen is dead! Williams probably isn't far behind! And all because YOU decided to stick with the insane drug dealer!" Brandt yelled and pointed a blaming finger on the injured man.

"I didn't want Bensen to get killed! I didn't want anyone to get killed. But I don't regret my choices. What's done is done," Sanders said. He leaning his head against the pile and smiled. "Karma's a bitch. I betray you and you shoot me." He rolled his head around and once again smiled at his own jokes. Then he stared right ahead, not really looking at anything. "Life's funny like that, huh?" his mouth barely moved as he mumbled the last bit. Then he took once last breath and his entire body turned limp. The hand that had covered the gunshot wound fell onto the dirty ground.

Brandt stared at Sanders' body. For a while he wasn't able to do much else than just stand there and take deep breathes, trying to calm down his pounding heart. Two were dead and one was missing. He was the only one left. But they still had a mission to complete. And he was going to finish it.

Once and for all.

**Okay … I had to stop it there, because it simply got too long! So you guys are going to get the rest of the story in the next chapter, along with a little team … hopefully! **

**Stay tuned! And review … I really want to know what is going around in your heads when you read the chapters. It can only make me happier and help turning me into a better writer :D**


	4. Never Forget

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Never Forget

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **This chapter was a bitch for me to write! I have deleted and rewritten it so many times that it drove me crazy! But now I think I have it, and hopefully it turned okay. If not, then at least tell me what I could have done better.  
Now, just to clarify when I write military truck, I mean those trucks where the soldiers are being transported in; you know those where there is a drivers cabin for two and behind the cabin there is a truck body where there are some benches where they sit face to face ... kind of confusing, I know, but hopefully you get the picture ;)

Thanks to casus17 and missy92 for reviewing, Snuffit, Rusher92, stinger85 and Miz Cee for following, respectively me or my story, and finally insanetumbler for favoriting my story. It means a helluva of a lot! :D

**Disclaimer: **I must yet again state that I do not own Mission Impossible, Jeremy Renner and so on … It's a sad life, but it is true.

"_The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause"_

* * *

_**6 years ago -Location: Bely, Russia.**_

Brandt grabbed the wheel so tight that his knuckles went white. He forced his breathing to return to normal as the truck neared Kumaskoff's base. The old military truck, he had stolen somewhere in the town, drove carelessly across the bumpy snow-covered landscape and jostled the agent inside. But he kept a steady eye on the base as it came closer and he could make out the guards standing there, black clad and holding automatic rifles. It wasn't very subtle. But then again, it was in the middle of a forest, far away from the population, so what did it really matter?

After he had disappeared from the street and got back to their safe house, Brandt had screamed. He had smashed a chair that got in the way and broken a mirror. He had punched the wall until his knuckles bled and the hunting dead eyes of agent Bensen had disappeared to the back of his mind. He knew he had to pull it together if Williams and he should have a chance of ever making it out alive. He pin-pointed agent Williams' location and started to form a plan, along with calling in what had happened and send a request for back-up and an extraction. While the IMF wouldn't allow Brandt to go into the base to get Williams, when he should be disavowed, Brandt had convinced the secretary to have a plane waiting for them in 3 hours. And if they weren't there by then, the two agents would be discharged and the plane would leave without them. So naturally Brandt felt a little pressured.

He just needed to get in, get Williams, hopefully destroy as much as possible, and get out.

Brandt swallowed the bad taste he had in his mouth and calmed his breathing as he pulled up in front of the fence of the base. A guard walked up to him and knocked on the window. In his side-view mirror Brandt could see two other, examining the back. He just hoped that the barrels, big black boxes and blankets covering some junk he had found on the street would be enough to convince them. He mentally crossed his fingers that they wouldn't find the IMF-equipment he had brought along as well. Brandt rolled down the window and smiled at the guard, though the man didn't return the favor.

"Привет там," (_Hi there_) Brandt smiled cheerfully.

"Что вы имеете в своем груз?"(_What do you have in your cargo?_) The guard asked, his eyes piercing into Brandt's.

"Просте оружием и боеприпасами."(_Just weapons and ammunition.) _

"Ah," the Russian replied and took an extra look into the empty cabin. Then he looked back to the guards and saw them nod. He turned back to Brandt. " Продолжить."(_Proceed._)

"Вы имеете хорошего дня," (_You have a nice day_) Brandt said and nodded, pressing the gas as soon as the fence-gates opened. He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Step one was cleared. But there were still so many steps to go.

Brandt parked the truck and went to the back and jumped in, rolling the flaps down so no nosy eyes could see what he was doing. He pulled out a small scanner from his back pocket and turned it on. A small red dot appeared on the screen and blinked steadily. Brandt got a good orientation as to where to find Williams, then took a gun in his empty holster and went out to search for his team leader.

* * *

Brandt switched between looking at the scanner and hiding from any guards that walked by in the hallway. The red dot was still as clear as day and Brandt was getting closer. He just had to find a staircase. He listened to every unmarked door he came by, making sure there was nobody in there before he took a look around. As he put his ear to one door and listened, he suddenly heard voices coming closer from down the hall. Panicking he opened the door he was leaned against and hid in there. To his luck the room was empty. But he still stopped short and almost forgot about the guards outside. "Oh my God …" he mumbled.

The room was dark and only lit by a small light-bulb in the ceiling. In the middle there was a table, with stacks of paper and the wall opposite the door was full of different kinds of pictures and notes, and a large map of Moscow was placed in the middle. Brandt's eyes locked on the pictures. Each and every one of them represented men, women and kids of various ages, who lay in hospital beds, their skin torn and bloody, covered in sweat. Some had oxygen masks on, while others had none. It was clear that half of the people on the pictures were dead, while the other half was dying. The notes attached had formulas where some of the structure that been crossed over and another structure had been added. Brandt realized what was going on. Jolan Kumaskoff had been testing his drug on people. And Brandt was looking at the results.

He swallowed, knowing he didn't have a choice: He had to destroy the base, because there was no way Kumaskoff could release his toxin in the capital of Russia.

* * *

He was suddenly glad for all the equipment he had brought from the safe house. Most of it was small and so he could have it in his pockets. After seeing the physical evidence of the Russian drug dealer's plan, Brandt had gone back the truck. There he had planted the heart of the explosion; A bomb from the IMF, and he was going to place as much chargers around the base as he could. He had had 10 chargers and was now only missing one. But before he could place it, he needed to find Williams.

He finally found the room they were holding him in. A man stood guard in front of the door. Brandt casually walked up to the man and said: "Hey man, wanna hear a joke? A Russian man walks into a bar …" The guard frowned at him and his fingers itched towards the trigger on his rifle. Brandt didn't let him respond in any way as he grabbed the automatic and slammed it into the man's nose. Then he grabbed a hold of his neck and slammed his knee into the man's stomach. While the guard was gasping for his breath, Brandt didn't hesitate and drove his fist into his face before he kicked him hard in the chest.

The guard collapsed to the ground and Brandt moved to the door. "Don't worry, I didn't get it either." He mumbled and took out his gun and aimed it into the room as he opened the door. As he entered he was immediately met with gunfire. He avoided the shot by rolling to the side and fired one himself. It landed square in the shooter's chest and he crumpled to the floor. Agent Donald Williams looked up from his position at Brandt with wide eyes. He was tied to a wooden chair, looking as worn down as ever. His nose was obviously broken, blood pouring from the nostrils, down his mouth; his wrists were raw from the ropes binding them and his face was full of small cuts. "Brandt?" he said, his voice full of confusion. The younger agent moved to the team leader and started to cut the ropes. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought I should stop by," Brandt replied. "I've already called in the cavalry; so let's get you out of here." The ropes came off and Brandt took a hold of Williams and hauled him up. He draped his arm over his shoulder and started to guide him out into the hall.

"What about the mission? We can't just leave the base," Williams argued.

"Don't worry. I left them a little present; hopefully they won't get it before we are out of here," Brandt said and turned to a right, towards the exit he had seen when he had walked by. He took out a switch from his pocket and pressed the little button. They now had two minutes before the whole building would start to blow up.

Shouting could be heard behind them and Brandt knew it was only a matter of time before Kumaskoff figured out they had been breached and their prisoner was missing. He only hoped it would be when both agents were out of the base. But that hope faded when he rounded a corner and suddenly found himself face to face with Jolan Kumaskoff and his gun barrel. "Well, what do we have here," he said, smirking. "Two lost agents." Brandt's mouth went dry; he knew things had gone all too well. Sooner or later things had to go wrong. At that moment Brandt regretted breaking that mirror in the safe house. He could really use some luck right now.

"You didn't think I would let you leave, did you? Even if you manage to get by me, to which I might add if next to impossible, my men are surrounding the place. Your little 'Operation Snowstorm' hasn't been a success has it?" Brandt looked at him puzzled when he mentioned the name. How had he figured that out? By the looks of Williams, he hadn't told him anything.

Kumaskoff smirked when he saw Brandt's shock. "Ah, you don't have to worry. That was the only thing I could get out of your little friend here. I can see why you made him boss; he's very hardy." The drug dealer's smirk got even wider as he cocked the safety off.

But he didn't get any further as a loud boom sounded. It shook the entire base and the ground rumbled underneath all three men's feet. Another boom quickly followed and this time it threw them to the ground.

Brandt took the opportunity and went for the gun that had fallen out of Kumaskoff's hands and landed in front of him. Both men got a hold of the weapon. They struggled, swinging it back and forth as they rolled around on the floor. Suddenly Kumaskoff's elbow found Brandt's nose and the impact forced the agent to let go. Not hesitating, Brandt threw himself into the Russian to go out of the line of fire. Everything was a blur for Brandt as the ground shook again and limbs disappeared and reappeared in front of his vision. It all ended when he felt a poke on the left shoulder, heard a loud bang, followed by excruciating pain that burned down all the way down his arm and side. Kumaskoff rolled away with the gun in his hand, aiming at Brandt's head. Brandt grabbed his shoulder to stop the blood that was flooding from it freely and looked up at the drug dealer. He knew his end had come. Kumaskoff smiled at him almost saying that he knew it too.

But just as Kumaskoff was about to pull the trigger, a shadow knocked him into a wall and the gun slid out of his grasp. Williams could barely stand on his feet, but he managed to bend down and pick the gun up before he turned to the injured agent on the ground and reached out his hand. Brandt took it and struggled to stand up.

"Let's go," Williams said and with the two agents supporting each other, they walked out of the exit door.

Dark had fallen, but it only made the burning building they had ran out off much easier to see. Everywhere men were running out of every exit they could find, desperate to get away from the flames and falling concrete. Brandt looked to the sky as he heard chopper blades from the sky. At first he thought it was more of Kumaskoff's men, trying to assist, but as the chopper started to land on the clearing all he felt was relief. Several IMF-agents sprang out and ran through the snow towards the pair and escorted them back to their ride.

When Brandt was laid down on the chopper floor, all he wanted to do was sleep. Williams was safe, the base was destroyed and Jolan Kumaskoff was dead. Or at least he would be soon. As they flew over the snow covered forest, Brandt didn't take his eyes off the burning base. Not until it was out of sight. Exhaustion and pain grabbed a firmer hold and he was unable to stay awake anymore.

* * *

_**Present time - location: Plane, Atlantic Ocean. **_

Ethan, Benji and Jane all sat in silence. Benji sat his computer, trying to access every airport-system. If Brandt had taken a plane to anywhere, the tech would know. Jane sat in a chair, looking out of the window at the clouds that flew by, a file in her lap. Ethan sat leaned over the small table, studying the picture of Jolan Kumaskoff. Rapports, statements and various pictures were spread out all over the table. He had read and then reread everything he could about 'Operation Snowstorm' and from the way it had ended, the older agent had a pretty good idea who was behind the whole setup along with the breach at the headquarters. And judging from the pictures, he knew this wasn't going to be easy. The Russian drug dealer was a dangerous man, and now he was out for revenge.

Ethan dreaded what would happen to his agent. He made a mental promise to himself. He would find Brandt and eliminate Jolan Kumaskoff … for good this time.

**End of chapter 4. Hope you didn't find it boring or confusing. I hope not! I really need you guys to review, because otherwise I have no idea whether or not you like this story! So review! :D**


	5. Come What May

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Come What May

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **Well, now that we have our past-story set, let's move on with the present-story. Get ready for some Brandt-whump (I will bet some of you have been waiting for that! - At least I have …)  
Before we move on with the story I would like to thank those who reviewed, follows or added to favorite: astridv, Genevieve Kelly, casus17, Dsgdiva, Acrylate (Guest), SPN4eva556 and Missy92

**Disclaimer: **It really hurts me to say I do not own anything that you might recognize. It's a very painful statement that brings tears to my eyes, but truth tends to do that sometimes.

"_Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past"_

* * *

_**Present time - location: Unknown.**_

Jolan Kumaskoff eyed the prisoner before him for a minute before he turned to three men behind him. "Leave us, please." Johnson nodded and led the two guards out the door before he also stepped out and slammed it shut. The former drug dealer turned his attention back to the tied agent.

"What? You look so surprised to see me," Kumaskoff said and smiled. "You look different than 6 years ago. Is the job taking its toll?"

Brandt couldn't do anything other than stare at the Russian with as much hatred as he could muster. But the man simply ignored the glare and continued his rambling. "Wow. Can you believe it? 6 years! That is a lot of time." He grabbed a chair that stood against the far wall, a chair Brandt hadn't noticed until now, and placed it front of him and sat down. He crossed his legs, folded his hands in his lap and leaned back, looking comfortable and relaxed. In a fleeing moment it would have looked like two friends taking business instead of a hostage and his captor. "You know, when you have that much time on your hands, it is quite easy to think about an avenging plan. You would be amazed of how many ways I orchestrated to make you suffer. It was hard to choose just one."

Brandt finally found his voice again. "It sounds like you are in desperate need of a hobby." He had kind of suspected that smart-ass remark would set off the Russian in some way, so he was very surprised when Kumaskoff laughed instead and got up from the chair very calmly. And that terrified Brandt more than anything else.

"You are a very funny man, Mr. Brandt. So very different from the first time we met," he talked while he walked around Brandt until he was behind him and placed his hands on each of his shoulders. Brandt stiffened. Then he felt a hot breath on his neck as Kumaskoff put his mouth close to his ear. "Do you still get nightmares about that night? Do you wake up, crying and covered in sweat? Do you see the dead accusing eyes of the agents you lost and almost lost?"

Brandt swallowed, determined not to show the drug dealer that he had hit home. He wouldn't show him that he was right; or at least partly right. Because he had spent many nights dreaming about Bely, Russia, and how he couldn't save Williams. He had been forced to rewatch the death of agent Bensen several times and for the first month after they got back, he didn't get one descent night's sleep. The only time he had slept through the night had been where he was at the medical wing and was giving sedatives for the gunshot wound in his shoulder. But after some time those dreams had faded into nothing more than a bad memory and he could sleep again. That was until the protection detail in Croatia, of course. But Brandt showed nothing of these emotions. Instead he answered with the most carefree voice he could portray: "Actually, I slept just fine. My bed is very comfortable."

"Well … you are going to be sleeping very comfortably very soon," Kumaskoff said and moved in front of Brandt again, though he didn't sit down on the chair. "You are going to die in here, agent. But first I am going to make your life a living hell. I am going to make you wish for death." The anger in the Russian's voice rose with every word and his accent became more and more salient as he continued. In the end he was practically yelling. "You destroyed my business, so now I am going to destroy yours! I am going to destroy the entire IMF, starting with my revenge on you!"

* * *

For Brandt, time passed by surprisingly quickly.

The fists that rained upon him never ceased, never wavered for a second. They hit him in his face, his stomach, and his arms. Wherever they could place their hands, they hit. Perhaps he had gone numb from all their strikes. The first beating-session he had fought back. For every punch he had latched out at the drug dealer. He had not once taken his eyes off of the Russian's. He had to let him know that he didn't scare easily and that he could not be broken. And he had lasted throughout the first session. And the second too, even when Kumaskoff brought in some of his men to join the party. But when the third came around, he found that he didn't care. The pain radiated from his entire body and he couldn't muster the energy it took to glare at anyone. So instead he just stared into nothingness, and waited for the beatings to end.

Eventually the crowd thinned out and it was just the prisoner and the older Russian. Kumaskoff leaned close to Brandt's face and watched as the battered agent struggled to take in a proper breath. Blood ran from various cuts on his face and from his broken nose. Every time he breathed in he could feel at least one of his ribs shift painfully. But he was far from death's door which made Brandt wonder what else Kumaskoff had planned for him.

"So … Is there something you would like to share?" Kumaskoff asked, with his ever-present self-satisfied smile.

Brandt didn't glare up at his captor, even when he spat out a cluster of blood from his mouth.

"So you are going to clamp up like your little buddy?" Kumaskoff said and eyed him like a patient predator. Brandt's energy flowed back to him in an instant and his eyes snapped up.

"What have you done with him?" he asked carefully; he dreaded the answer.

"Oh, agent Williams?" Kumaskoff said and smiled, as he straightened back up. He seemed to thrive on the fact that he saw himself above Brandt. And he didn't let the other man forget it for second. "Well, he was not much fun to play with. Not the first time and not the second time."

"Did you kill him?" He locked his eyes onto the Russian, wanting him to see that though his energy was sapped, he could not be easily defeated. Two could play that game.

"Unfortunately, yes. He did not last very long, I'm afraid." But Kumaskoff's eyes was everything but apologetic as he sat down on the chair. They were calm, and if you ignored the bruised knuckles you wouldn't believe that the same man had participated in the beating of another. He exhaled loudly as he crossed his arms and looked to be lost in thought.

"It is a shame, really. He seemed so strong the first time. He was a lot like you are now. Maybe it is something that comes over the years … and then disappears over the years," Kumaskoff mused. He turned his gaze back to Brandt, who was biting down in his jaw in an effort not to react. "Granted, we did go rougher on him than last time, but surely a man his caliber should be able to …" he searched for the right word, "… withstand such pressure. Don't you think, agent Brandt?"

"What is the point in all this?" Brandt replied. He had tried to read the man before him, but he came up just as empty as he had six years ago.

"I am sure the point I am trying to get across cannot be mistaken. Are you trying to stall me, agent? What good could possibly come out of that? No one is coming for you anyway."

"I am just getting my information where I can," Brandt simply answered.

The older man breathed out a small laugh. "You think that is what I am after? Information?" he smiled and leaned in, resting his elbows on his thighs. "I know who you work for. That is not the issue. You see, I hacked into your little agency, mostly to find the dead men who destroyed my base. 'IMF' is good, too good actually. I only managed to get in and get out. But thanks to your little bird I knew what to look for. So I got a hold of the locations of agents Donald Williams and William Brandt." He leaned back against the back rest once again, looking as satisfied as ever.

Brandt felt like laughing. This just kept getting better and better. Kumaskoff only verified what Brandt had suspected the first time he saw him walk through the door. He also knew that this wasn't a form of interrogation, but a simple act of revenge from a man who apparently had lost everything. And he knew that if he didn't find a way to escape by himself, he would die in this cold and empty room. So until he came up with a plan, or at least a way to get out of those ropes, he had to settle for stalling. And knowing Jolan Kumaskoff, both from his limited personal experience and from his file, if you pushed the right buttons, he would be more than willing to talk. He just hoped he found the ones that worked and not the ones that shut him down completely. "So who is this 'agent Johnson'? Is he real or just some name made up in a rush?" he settled for asking, hoping Kumaskoff would take the bait and start gloating about his diabolical and well executed plan.

"Oh, agent Johnson is very real. Or at least he was," Kumaskoff looked very smug. "Last time I saw him he had a bullet hole between his eyes. Those can be quite nasty, so I'm told." Brandt looked away for second to compose himself. So far a lot of people had died, just for a Russian who held a grudge and thirsted for revenge. If it was revenge Kumaskoff wanted upon him, he couldn't see why a lot of people had to die before that became possible. He felt bad that good people had to die just so he could die too. It seemed so pointless.

Kumaskoff reached forward and Brandt instinctively tried to shy away from his hand. But the ropes that gnawed into his wrists held him in place and made it impossible for him to get away. Kumaskoff took a hold of the collar of his dusty and torn shirt and pulled it down long enough to reveal his shoulder. "Ah, I see you still have the scar I gave you. Some things never go away, do they?" he smirked, as he laid eyes on the ragged scar that colored a big part of Brandt's front shoulder. The bullet wound had healed nicely and without any real complications, but it was a bullet wound nonetheless and it was bound to leave a scar.

"Just a simple reminder from our mission," Brandt clarified, trying to sound like he hadn't looked in the mirror from time to time, reliving Russia and all its painful memories.

"And what exactly was your 'mission'?" Kumaskoff mocked.

"We were sent to take down you and your filthy organization," Brandt spat. He had no idea where the sudden urge to fight came from, but he had no intention of stopping it.

"Really? And how do you think that worked out? I am still here and kicking."

Brandt smiled for the first time, his teeth gleaming through the blood that covered them. "Better than you thought."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kumaskoff eyed him curiously.

"You can't rebuild your little castle, not with what you have left; most of your companions have left you and those who are still with you, have been bribed in some way. As far as I know, you aren't even on our watch-list anymore," Brandt smirked at the Russian, knowing he had hit a nerve. "Look at you: you are nothing, but a small-time crook with a few strings here and there. You have nothing. Not really an international threat, do you think?" he copied Kumaskoff's mocking voice from before.

For the first time since he had walked through that door Kumaskoff lost his smug feature. The side of his face twitched a single time and his normal calm eyes held a burning fire that could make better men cringe in fear. He stared at Brandt for only a second, but that second dragged out for far too long. Long enough for Brandt to wonder if he had played out his luck. And when Kumaskoff bolted out the chair, making it turn over with a clattering noise on the cement floor, and wrapped his large and surprisingly strong hand around Brandt's throat, he knew he had crossed the line. The fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around his windpipe and made Brandt gasp for air. He tried to twist in his chair, but he was still helplessly bound. He struggled to breathe, each time he tried to take in a breath the air refused to enter his lungs. Black dots appeared in the edge of his vision and he wondered if this was how it was supposed to end: Him being choked to death while staring into the eyes of a Russian drug dealer who wanted nothing other than to destroy his life.

Just as he could feel the darkness edging closer, the hand pushed him back and let go. He fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for the precious oxygen. While he was still heaving for breath Kumaskoff took a hold of the chair and set it in an upright position. He took a fierce hold on Brandt's hair and looked him dead in the eyes. "Be careful with what you say," Kumaskoff's voice was low but it held such force that he didn't need to speak up. "You have no idea who you are dealing with!" Then he released his grip and tossed Brandt's head away. He stormed out of the room and the metal door slammed shut.

Brandt was left, still breathing heavily and trying to blink out the black spots from his vision. The pain and exhaustion from all the beatings and his entire stay in this hell-hole hit him with full force. The days or weeks, Brandt wasn't sure which one it was, that had passed by decided to take its tool now. But he knew he couldn't just give up. He shot out a breath from his nose before he started to jerk his entire body, hoping that the ropes would loosen and he would be free. He yanked his wrists again and again. He continued until they were even more raw and bloody than before. But his bindings didn't loosen, not a single bit.

He felt like screaming his lungs out. The only reason he didn't was that he couldn't find the energy to do so. Everything seemed to fall apart around him and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

His squeezed his eyelids tighter as memories invaded his tired mind. He stubbornly ignored the tiny drop of water that wandered away and rolled slowly down his bruised cheek.

**Review guys! You must know how much I love them! No, seriously … I need them. Really need them. **


	6. Mountains of Madness

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Mountains of Madness

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **So … now there is a little team and a little more Brandt-whump, though not as evident as before. And for those who reviewed: Sinkme, Sabsi13, 64, Heroicfantasyfan, Margaret (Guest), Acrylate, casus17 and Missy92 and followed: briebydeb, ecat, Sinkme and 64. Thank you! It is always gratefully appreciated! (Let me know if I forgot anyone!)

And for Heroicfantayfan: I would like to give you special thanks for your review. It is always nice to be assured that people are reading my story even though they don't review every time. It's very nice, so thank you! :D

**Disclaimer: **This has now become a routine: I do not own Mission: Impossible or anything related.

"_The rewards in life go to those who are willing to give up the past"_

* * *

_**Location: Plane, Atlantic Ocean. **_

The plane, ever since they stepped into it, held a silence. At first it was a tense silence, created from each of the team-members trying to track down their missing friend. But now, a different kind of silence had fallen upon the aircraft. It was still tense; it always would be until Brandt was found. But people were silent for a different reason now. Everyone had fallen asleep, exhausted from the strain of always keeping alert. Almost everyone had fallen asleep, anyway.

Benji was asleep in front of the computer, his head cupped in his hand as his arm rested on the plane-chair's arm-rest. A facial detection program was still running, scanning all airport-crowds from the entire world. William Brandt's face was plastered on the screen and with even the slightest hint of a possible match, the machine would beep. And it had done so a few times. But it had never been the face they were looking for. Always it had been a business man or a father who had been caught at the right angle. It was never Brandt.

Jane was curled up in her seat. Her legs were tugged into her chest and her head was resting against the plane's interior wall. The small vibrations it sent through the wall had lulled her into a deep sleep almost the second she had leaned her head against it.

The file she had been holding slit out of her lap and landed on the floor, the pictures and reports spread out all over the floor.

Ethan looked up from his own seat as the folder hit the ground. Sighing, he walked over and picked it up. He placed it on the table along with the other folders that was placed there.

He then sat back down and looked out of the window. He watched as the night sky passed by them. It was a very clear night. The moon was shining, bright and clear, casting a white light through the windows on their plane. It was a very beautiful sight; one Ethan would have loved to share with Julia. His heart ached slightly when she crossed his mind. It always did when he thought of her. Her beautiful smile and her silky brown hair. He smiled to himself as he pictured her before him.

Then his mind raced to Brandt.

The younger agent was still out there somewhere. Alone. He needed their help, but they didn't even have a starting point. All they knew was 'Operation Snowstorm' and what they could get from IMF-files. And it wasn't much. Much to Ethan's dismay there wasn't anything they could do right now. There was nobody they could turn to, and nowhere to go. All they could do was to wait; wait for Benji's program to find Brandt. It had run for hours on end and so far all they had was misleading identifications.

Ethan thought of Jolan Kumaskoff and how much of a hell the man had created. He might not be an international threat anymore, but he was still a cruel man. He had built up his empire from nothing and he could certainly do it again. It would be trickier, for sure, but it was still a possibility. And Ethan feared how he would do it, now that he had knowledge about IMF along with an agent in his custody. The team-leader especially feared what he would do with said agent.

A loud beeping noise pulled him from his wandering thoughts, along with tearing both Jane and Benji from their sleep. Benji let out a loud yelp as he was startled from his slumber. He almost knocked down the computer in his surprise, but managed to catch it before it went completely over the table's edge.

When it was placed safely back on the table, Benji stared at the screen. Brandt's identification picture from the IMF was on the left and on the right was a more blurry picture of the agent, looking sideways to the right nervously. Red writing covered most of the bottom screen, the color blinking in the same rhythm as the loud beeping.

_Facial match: 98,7 %_

* * *

_**Location: Unknown. **_

The icy water washed over him and pulled him from his slumber instantly. He gasped out with surprise as his eyes flew open. He looked around wildly, disoriented about where he was and what had just happened. Then all the memories assaulted him and he remembered. His aching body and sore throat helped him reconnect. He didn't even realize he had fallen asleep. He couldn't remember falling asleep earlier. He shook his head to clear his swirling mind and blinked the stinging water out of his eyes.

When the fog lifted he stared into the questioning face of 'agent' Johnson. The man tilted his head, bearing a resemblance to a curious bird. He smiled wryly. "And how are we feeling today?" he asked casually.

Brandt didn't bother to answer. Aside from not trusting his voice he wasn't up to playing the man's games. So he stayed silent and just settled for a glare. That didn't face Johnson though and he simply huffed and sat down on the chair Kumaskoff had left behind. "Not in the talking mood today, are we?"

The analyst swallowed a single time but otherwise didn't move or speak. "You know, in some countries it's considered rude not answering when asked a question," Johnson continued.

"It's also considered rude holding people against their will, but you don't seem to having problems with that," Brandt spoke up, wincing when he heard his raw voice.

"No. That is illegal. It's two different things," Johnson argued. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms.

"Depends on where you are," Brandt shrugged. He cursed himself inwardly for tagging along for whatever game Johnson had started.

"Ah. That is true. I bet you have seen a little bit of both, am I right?" he said it so casually that Brandt, for the tiniest millisecond, forgot all about his current situation.

"What do you want?" the agent sighed.

"I thought you already understood. This isn't about …"

"… About you. Yeah, we've established that," Brandt interrupted. He was getting sick and tired of all this toying with his mind. Kumaskoff he could understand, but why Johnson had to join the party he could not wrap his mind around. Was it Kumaskoff's order? Or was the Russian just tired or occupied for the scheduled torture of the day?

To say Brandt was anxious about what to expect was an understatement. But not only was he an agent, he was also an analyst. The patterns, strays and abnormalities were what he was good at. Or at least he had specialized in it, after the whole Croatia-mission. He had become good at his job. He had studied individuals and learned their motives, triggers and responses. He knew from his limited knowledge, he had to get these people to talk, whether it was gloating about themselves or demean him; it didn't matter. If he had to get out of this alive, they had to talk. Because talking bought him time. What he did with that offered time, was entirely up to him.

So he needed to make them talk, even if that meant playing along with their small mind-games. But that was easier said than done. "Why are you in here?" Brandt asked. "Kumaskoff I would have expected. But what significance to I have to you?"

"Again you think it's all about you. Can't you comprehend that life doesn't always centers around you?" Johnson smirked at him.

Brandt swallowed down his annoyance. "Aha. So … you're in here to keep an eye on me then?"

"Again, so self-centered."

"Prove me wrong," Brandt merely stated, his eyes never wavering.

Johnson snorted and hung his right arm over the back rest while his other rested on his leg. He contemplated how to respond for a few seconds before he replied, "very well then. You owe me a great deal of money."

Brandt tried his best not to show his surprise. Had he run into this man on another mission? He could not recall which one. "Oh, I do? Remind me again how … and why."

"Well, it started when you blew up an entire base in Bely."

"You were there?" Brandt frowned; this time he couldn't hold back his surprise.

"Not when you destroyed our plans and hopes for a better future, no," Johnson said, his content for the bound man showing its face. "I was out. You know … the occasional location-scouting in Moscow, nothing special. I was a part of Kumaskoff's plans. I was in on it from the beginning. But I played it smart and hid in the shadows until I received my money. But with the base gone, that flew out of the window." He reached into his left pocket and took out a pocket-knife. The blade swung out with a click and Johnson's eyes eyed the sharp edges with a small smile and a slight fondness. Brandt swallowed the sudden sour taste in his mouth.

Johnson caught his gaze and his smile became wider. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Jolan Kumaskoff promised to pay me, nonetheless, though his payments are different than before," his green orbs bore into Brandt's storm-grey. "But I must say I'm quite satisfied with that arrangement."

He got up from the chair and moved closer to Brandt, whose body had gone stiff. He eyed the man before him. The blade rested against his cheek for a second before Johnson turned the edge and cut swiftly through the skin. Brandt hissed slightly and turned away on instinct. The cut wasn't deep but it stung. Johnson laughed at his prisoner.

"Now you have to pay what you owe me. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it," Johnson smirked.

Brandt backed away in the chair, fear evident in his eyes. He knew he wasn't going to like this, one little bit.

* * *

_**Location: Plane, Atlantic Ocean.**_

"I got it," Benji whispered to himself, disbelief evident in his voice.

"I got it!" he repeated louder, when he remembered not only wasn't he alone; the two agents onboard with him couldn't hear him. A little smile spread out in his lips. All the grogginess of being startled out of his sleep had completely disappeared and was replaced with a sudden enthusiasm.

"You know where he is?" Jane asked carefully. She had gotten up from her seat and stood in front of the Brit.

"Well, not specifically, but according to the program he is somewhere in Peru. I'll try to see if I can bring it down further. Hold on a minute." Both Hunt and Jane looked on, anxiously, while the tech continued to type furiously, completely concentrated. His face fell a few minutes later. "I've tried to spot him on any security cameras, but besides the fact that he hasn't boarded another plane, the trail runs cold." He looked almost apologetic.

Ethan just nodded, the next step already forming in his mind. "It's good, Benji. It's one step closer and that's all we need."

**I apologize for the slight shortness of this chapter, but the next one will be longer, I promise! **** As I always say at the end of a chapter: Review please. And this time, if you review, you automatically receive a cookie AND Brandt gets a hug! I promise! :D**


	7. Tick Tock Goes the Clock

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Tick Tock Goes the Clock

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **Okay, so I apologized for the shortness of the previous chapter, but this one is by far the shortest of for that I REALLY apologize! So if you review there is a little present, which you can read by the end of the chapter! Also the next chapter will be longer and filled with action! :D  
I would like to thank: Missy92, Sabsi13, casus17, 64, shila1378, Genevieve Kelly, Margaret (Guest), Juke21, TroublesomeRedhead, Gingerjam (Guest), Faye Hawkeye, sinkme and Heriocfantasyfan for reviewing and following.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you might recognize, I do not own. My wish, sadly, did not come true. *sigh*.

"_Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."_

* * *

_**Location: Unknown**_

_He screamed as another wave of agony rolled over him. The blood in his veins seemed frozen and an icy feeling spread throughout his body. His legs were burning from running through the woods. His lungs were on fire and he couldn't breathe. The snow was cold and the chilling air had long ago taken away his body warmth. Trees surrounded him and the darkness followed him whichever way he ran. A whisper ran along with the wind across the forest. "I am coming for you" it said. It was a promise and no matter how much Brandt tried, he couldn't escape from it. Nor the forest he was trapped in. _

_He came to a clearing and stopped short. In the middle of it stood the figure of a man. Frowning Brandt moved closer, step by shaking step."You failed," the shadow said. _

_Brandt tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. Unable to speak he stepped closer until he could see the shadow's face. It was Donald Williams. His face was bloody and torn, cuts apparent on every surface of his body. His clothes were soaked and clung to his body. "You didn't come. You failed," he said. His voice was hurt, confused and accusative, but most of all, it was angry. "You killed me. You destroyed the IMF. You failed!"_

"You failed."

Brandt snapped his eyes open as Williams' voice echoed in his ears. His heart raced so fast, he feared it was going to hop out of his chest. Small beams of sweat rolled down his forehead. Some of them stung as the water hit the newly applied cuts on his face.

Brandt groaned slightly when he moved. Johnson had made sure even the simplest thing such as taking a deep breath would be a bother. He had sliced pretty much Brandt's entire upper body; the cuts weren't deep enough to be fatal in itself but there were many and blood had oozed out from all of them at some point. His shirt was hanging in shreds as the fabric had been torn to get to his tender skin underneath and the parts of the shirt that was still in one piece was stained red. Breathing had become harder after his 'knife-lesson' and it was hard to find a part of his body that didn't hurt. And since when had the temperature in the room gone up?

He couldn't remember it being so hot inside his room before. His body seemed to be on fire and the hot air surrounding him was almost suffocating. His lips were cracked and he wondered how long he had gone without water; his aching, sore throat confirming it had been too long.

For the first time since he had woken up in this prison, Brandt wondered if he really was going to die in here. The analyst inside had weighted the options and found the most likely outcome; he would never make it out alive.

And the agent started to believe it too.

* * *

_**Location: Peru.**_

Jane felt foolish. Everyone who passed by her turned their head slightly, doing their best not to show they stared; locals and tourists alike. But they did. And Jane noticed every turn of head and every staring eye. She did her best to keep her best to look like she didn't give a damn about it, but she looked foolish and she knew it. But at least she knew Benji shared that feeling with her.

The two agents stood in the streets of Peru with the warm South-American sun shining down on them. They were surrounded by a ton of bags, containing all the clothes and equipment they could possibly need. Despite the travel bags and sunglasses, neither of the two looked like tourists. Their stern faces were serious, clearly showing they weren't there to do any sight-seeing. They were there on business and not to be played with. And yet, Jane felt like a joke.

Maybe it was because Ethan had gone to meet with a contact, who lived down here, and Jane and Benji were left behind to guard their things. Jane hated waiting. Especially when every passer-by gave them a weird look. She had settled for simply glaring back at them to mind their own business. But unfortunately it only worked on the tourists; the locals returned with a mutual glare towards her. They weren't shy, that was for sure.

Ethan returned an hour later. He still looked stressed and tired, just like the rest of them, but he met them with a satisfied smile and his shoulders seemed more relaxed, as if a small burden had been lifted from him.

"Well? Spit it out!" Benji demanded when Ethan didn't spoke up immediately.

The team leader looked at both his agents with a confident smirk: "We got him."

* * *

Ethan's contact, a man named Julio Rodriguez, offered the team a temporary shelter for them to put their gear and bring back Brandt, when they had rescued him, which they gratefully accepted. The house was small and messy; a perfect location if you wanted to hide out for awhile. Ethan told them that Julio had been hiding assets for him several times if he had come across Peru and that he trusted the older man completely. Julio himself was a short tanned fellow, with a thick black mustache and a bald head. His eye-wrinkles along with his kind smile, reminded both Jane and Benji more about a story-telling grandpa than a man allied with a secret organization in the American government.

His wife was equally as friendly as she greeted them with a big smile when they reached the house. While Ethan was in engaged in a light conversation in fast Spanish with Julio, Jane and Benji were welcomed with hugs and rapid explanations on where to find what in the house by the tiny dark-haired woman.

When they entered their private room, after finally getting away from Mrs. Rodriguez when she kept insisting they should eat something, they wasted no time getting out the maps and records they had.

"Okay; according to Julio, Brandt should be in this area," Ethan started and drew a small circle on their map with a pencil. "Now: there is only one building within this circle and it's big, so we can't miss it."

Benji couldn't contain his curiosity and knew he had to ask before he could get any further with the planning. "Right," he stated and looked at the team leader skeptically. "But how does Julio know all this? I mean, it isn't like he's … you know, master-spy material."

Ethan smiled at the Brit. "I called him when we traced Brandt to Peru and asked him if he could sniff around a little bit. Though he has helped the IMF several times before, he is still in with some bad people. Or he has been at some point. Which makes his house the perfect hiding place; none of Kumaskoff's men would think twice about looking here."

The tech nodded, satisfied with the explanation.

"Now we have that settled … What's our approach?" Jane said, eager to finally get to do something other than wait.

"Right. Julio has managed to give us a car, both as a way in and out. We leave here and head straight for town where it will be waiting for us …" Ethan started explaining every step of their plan. Every detail was included and nothing that could be, was left to chance. They talked and repeated continuously until the final piece of the puzzle had been laid and every team member could their part inside and out.

"We have to fight our way out. We are leaving with Brandt, or we are not leaving at all. That is going to be our mission; should we choose to accept it," Ethan said, his face was stoic, serious and collected.

Both agents nodded, agreeing. It was time to get back their missing analyst.

**TBC.  
So stay tuned and you can thank shils1378 for this time, if you review, not only will you receive a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie, you now give Brandt a kiss and hope he makes it to the next chapter ;) **


	8. Point of No Return

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Point of No Return

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **There isn't much to say on this second-to-last chapter, other than thank you to TroublesomeRedhead, Missy92, casus17, shila1378, 64, Margaret (Guest), Strawberrywaltz, Sinkme, Acrylate (Guest) and Sabsi13 for reviewing. Thank you to blue peanut m and m, Blitz182, Strawberrywaltz, Shava Seaview and Herendil for following and thank you to shila1378 for putting it on your favorite list. I hope I didn't forget anyone, otherwise, let me know!  
Your support is and will always be greatly appreciated! :D

**Disclaimer: **Do not own anything.

"_The beauty of the past is that it is the past. The beauty of the now is to know it. The beauty of the future is to see where one is going."_

* * *

_**Location: Peru. **_

The distant sound of gunfire and yelling tore Brandt out of his slumber-like state. He hadn't really been sleeping, the heat in the room along with his pounding head and aching body, prevented such thing from happening, but he didn't have the energy to even keep his eyes open. So he was stuck in a limbo; a line between sleep and awareness.

The noises continued on outside his door; still distant but seeming to get closer and closer. But the two guards inside his room weren't reacting on them so Brandt figured they were inside of his head. Maybe it was the sound of a past from long ago that decided to haunt him now and torture his soul until he cracked. Maybe he hoped so badly for an extraction to come and get him and Williams like the one six years ago, that he was imagining them coming for him again. Or maybe it was the incredibly warm temperatures inside of his cramped prison that pressed down on his brain. Hadn't the room grown smaller during the time he had been here?

_Great. Just great. Now I'm also insane. _

The sweat was pouring down his forehead and landing in his eyes. The water made his clothes stick to his clammy skin uncomfortably and Brandt could literally kill for a simple drop of water. His mouth was as dry as a desert and the few drops of water he had received hours ago hadn't helped much and he had long ago sweat it out. It might have kept him from dying of dehydration but it didn't keep him from the feeling of drying out completely. Never again would he undermine the power of water. If he made it out alive, which was becoming more and more unlikely, he vowed he would drink nothing but water for the rest of his life.

The shouting and shooting became more and more frequent and louder. Even the two guards deflected from their original positions and started talking to each other in hushed voices, their tongues speaking a rapid form for Spanish, so Brandt didn't have a chance to figure out what was happening. Though his interest had been peaked, since he had gotten conformation that it wasn't his mind playing tricks on him, Brandt simply couldn't focus on the two men's behavior and analyze the situation like he would normally do. It was too much of a strain for his tired and tortured mind.

Instead his eyes suddenly fell in the puddle of blood on the floor, sticking to the legs of the chair he was bound to. He wondered if all of that came from just one person. It seemed so strange that that amount of blood would belong to one living person. It did have a funny color though. Rusty with a tint of red. His eyes found patterns forming in the crimson liquid and he started following them. It lulled him into a trance that he found oddly comfortable. He felt safe and content; almost happy.

Maybe dying wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

He was distracted from his pattern-finding in the blood when the big metal door's hinges suddenly squeaked as it opened and a single shot was fired.

One of the guards crumpled to the floor, dead from a bullet between the eyes. The second guard instantly aimed his rifle and moved to the barrel out of the door opening. He disappeared from sight as he was yanked out. A sound of something connecting with something hard along with a grunt and a groan, and everything went quiet.

A shadow appeared in the doorway, shielding the light that came from the hallway. Brandt squinted with his eyes as he tried to see the person who had just taken out two of his guards. When they finally focused he saw to his surprise it was Ethan Hunt.

_That's it: I __**am**__ losing my mind …_

* * *

Ethan had smiled and remained positive almost the entire time since they had left Julio's house. Mainly because the base was so protected and especially the hallway he was just in. That many armed men could only mean Brandt was still alive. Either that or Jolan Kumaskoff's head office was just around the corner, though Ethan highly doubted it. From what he had read from Kumaskoff's file, he would step out and join the fight or flee to leave his men to die instead of him. Since none of those two things had happened yet, Ethan was hoping he was right about Brandt. And he was.

But when he entered the room he immediately lost his smile. Though he had found his missing team member it didn't settle the pit in his stomach. If anything, it grew larger. The agent before him didn't look like the man he knew. His shirt was torn up and stained with blood. The skin underneath was a mess of purple bruising and long cuts, some of which were still bleeding. A large red bruise in the shape of hand had formed on his throat. He was sweating furiously, soaking what was left of his clothes and flattening his normally messy hair. What wasn't covered in blood or marks was pale and glistering with sweat. One eye was almost swollen shut while the other stared tiredly and went in and out of focus. A small puddle of blood has collected beneath the chair Brandt was tied to. Dried blood drops ran down the legs and the agent's body.

They had arrived in the brink of time, Ethan knew. "I found him!" he yelled out the door to Jane and Benji who had been taking down some of the other guards further down the hall. He ran inside and fell to his knees next to his fallen agent took a hold of his chin and forced Brandt to look at him. "Brandt?" Ethan tried.

Brandt's head lulled back and forth, like he couldn't even support it himself. His eyes looked at him sluggishly. "Hey! Focus!" he commanded, raising his voice slightly. Brandt blinked a single time and frowned back at Ethan, questioning. He seemed to become lucid at Ethan's barking.

"Ethan?" his voice was barely above a whisper. It was strained and weak.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, we are going to get you out of here, alright?" Ethan soothed.

"We?" he sounded so disbelieving and broken.

"Yeah," Ethan sadly smiled at him. "We are all here. Just stay with me alright. Can you do that?"

Brandt nodded. He blinked and rested his head on his chest when the room started to spin. Benji and Jane had entered the room, and just like Ethan, they had stopped to take it all in.

"Ethan, we have to go," Jane stated when she found her voice again. She eyed Brandt and was instantly filled with sadness and anger. It hurt inside her to see their fellow agent in that state. It made her blood boil and suddenly she hoped they wouldn't run into Kumaskoff on the way out. She didn't know she would do to the Russian if they did. She also knew the two others felt the same way.

"Grab a hold on him, I'll lead the way," Ethan ordered and backed up for the other two agents. Jane and Benji cut the ropes holding Brandt, and each took a hold of Brandt's arms and swung them over their shoulders. "Let's go," Ethan said and exited the room, followed by Benji and Jane. Both agents stumbled slightly when they realized they were supporting all of Brandt's weight. Brandt himself was barely able to keep his eyes open for much longer. His feet stumbled clumsily on the ground and he would have tripped had it not been for the support. His head hung lazily on his chest.

Ethan was in the lead with his gun raised, ready to pull the trigger at anyone who would try and stop them. His eyes darting back and forth, fast and alert.

Brandt did his best to pay attention to the action going on around him, but the blood that rushed in his ears and his pounding head made it painful to focus on anything for more than two seconds. Instead his eyes trailed the dead bodies they came across and scanned every face the best he could. Single gunshots rang out from time to time and another body appeared in his line of sight when they started moving again. He didn't register most of the faces until a certain one caught his eye. The features were slack, the mouth open and the eyes were lifeless and empty, staring into nothingness. A bullet hole was on his forehead, a single line of blood trailing out lazily to mix with his messy black hair.

The face belonged to Johnson.

Brandt didn't know why he was in shock. Maybe it was the blood loss, he couldn't tell. But somehow he found himself shaken when he saw the dead man's face. And though he was out of sight now, the face still lingered in front of his vision. He reminded himself that the man was a criminal who worked for a drug lord and that said man had tortured and cut him. He had hurt him and Brandt should feel glad that the man was gone forever from the world.

He was torn from his thoughts when all of the sudden they stopped short and the muffled sound of talking reached his ears.

The hallway split in two and while all three IMF-agents had studied the maps they had, none of them knew which hall lead to where. If they took the wrong one, they could end up going further inside the compound. Ethan looked both ways, trying to find any sign that told them one of the halls were the right one. He found none.

"Which way now?" Jane asked, adjusting her grip on Brandt's arm.

"I don't know," Ethan sighed. It sounded helpless in his ears. "I …"

"There should be another door down the hall to the left …" Brandt's raspy voice interrupted. All eyes fell on him. "Looks like a replica of the base in Russia six years ago." His eyes locked on Ethan's and it was the most lucid look the older agent had seen in Brandt since they entered the compound.

Ethan just nodded. "Then let's move."

* * *

Hunt smashed his fist into the other man's head and he fell onto the ground, unconscious. He turned breathlessly to Jane and Benji, who were helping Brandt from the ground and supporting his figure again. They had had to let him go when seven guards entered from different places and they had been too many for Ethan to take out.

"They just keep coming. We can't make it out alive if we continue doing this," Benji mused when he once again had placed Brandt's arm around his neck.

"I know," Ethan said. He took a deep breath and looked around. The hall had split again. "We have to split up. Jane and Benji; you take the left. I'll take Brandt and we'll assemble at the exit."

"Ethan …" Jane argued. They shouldn't split up, Brandt was, unfortunately, too much of a strain for one person, especially if they encountered more guards. It wasn't a good idea.

"You know it's the only way to make it out alive. I'll be fine," Ethan's voice was confident and assuring as it always was. He knew it was going to be difficult, but it could be done. He took Brandt from the two agent's arms and draped his arm over his neck to get a strong hold. "I'll see you at the exit," he promised.

"Be careful," Jane warned before she turned to the left and started to walk. Benji was still standing there, looking at Ethan. He opened his mouth to speak but Ethan interrupted.

"Go. Take care of her," he said, smiling at the Brit.

"You take care of him," the tech answered and nodded towards Brandt.

"I'll see you at the exit," Ethan smirked and turned to walk down the right hall.

* * *

If had been half an hour Ethan had walked when he spotted a large door. There was a window on top and he could faintly see the sunshine from outside. He smiled relieved. Brandt was a relatively small man, but he still weighed a lot and the weight had started to pull at Ethan's shoulders uncomfortably. But the main reason he was relieved was because the sight of that door could mean the end of their mission. All they needed was to get Brandt back to safety and into the United States. And the last part of fairly easy. He had felt how Brandt had gone more and more heavy, as he become more and more lifeless. It had come to a point where he could no longer support himself at all and Ethan had been forced to carry him fire-man style with a hold on Brandt's right arm and leg. He didn't know what effect it had on his injuries; if it made them worse. But their main concern was getting out alive and that was the best way to do so.

But before Ethan could take another step towards the door to freedom, the sound of a gun's safety being clicked off stopped him in his tracks. He still had a grip on his own gun, but if he turned around and fired it meant letting go of Brandt. And Ethan wasn't sure his body could handle the strain of being tossed onto the ground right now. So instead he turned very slowly so the person holding the gun, wouldn't fire. He turned to the smirking face of Jolan Kumaskoff. He had the gun barrel aimed straight at Ethan's heart.

**So, at first this chapter was a LOT longer, but then I thought I would leave you with one final little cliff-hanger! So now I will leave you with that and prepare yourselves for the last chapter! :D  
**


	9. Heart of Courage

**Title: **Higher Stakes

**Chapter title: **Heart of Courage

**Summary: **A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against a past enemy. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.

**Note: **First I would like to thank Strawberrywaltz, Missy92, shila1378, iReginaM, casus17, 64, Heriocfantasyfan, Sinkme and Margaret (Guest) for reviewing chapter 8, and also thanks to iReginaM, Mklizardluvr and HowTheStoryEnds for starting following this story.  
And for everyone who has reviewed over the entire story: THANK YOU! It truly means a lot. Your comments have been nothing but supportive and positive and every single review has made my day just a tad better! So thank you! :D  
And if you review this last chapter, Brandt will receive hugs and kisses AND you get to snuggle with him too, though only 5 minutes since he is a very busy man! ;)

So … This story has sadly come to an end. It kinda makes me sad, since everyone has been so nice throughout this little adventure. So I have nothing else to say, other than thank you again.

Therefore, without further a due, I hand you the final chapter!

Enjoy! :)

**Disclaimer: **Let's take it one last time, shall we? I do not own anything related to Mission: Impossible or anything else you might recognize.

"_The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion"_

* * *

_**Location: Peru.**_

"You suggest you move away from that door," the Russian said.

Ethan didn't move. "Kumaskoff, right?"

"You would be correct. And you are the infamous Ethan Hunt, am I right?" Kumaskoff said, his aim never wavering.

"Yes. I didn't know I had that much of a reputation."

"Well … I had to know about agent Brandt's new team. I cannot say I am surprised though; I figured you would come for him sooner or later," Kumaskoff said. "And I was right. Now, put him down." He emphasized his point with gesturing to the ground with his gun.

Ethan still didn't move. He was reluctant to let go of his team mate. He knew it was very unlikely he would be picking him off the ground again.

"Do it!" Kumaskoff said, raising his voice. "Or I will do it for you."

The team leader swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and slowly eased Brandt to the floor. The agent groaned slightly when he felt the hard ground underneath and the sudden disappearance of body warmth. Ethan made sure he was front of the agent with his hands raised above his head.

"Very good. Now," Kumaskoff said, "how about we make a deal? I let you run off with your buddies and agent Brandt will stay here with me. We will carry on like nothing ever happened."

"I can't let you do that, Kumaskoff. I'm leaving with him, one way or another," Ethan calmly stated.

Kumaskoff just laughed at the statement. "Such sentimentality. I knew you were fond of the impossible, but now it is just pushing it too far."

While Ethan did his best trying to keep the Russian's focus from Brandt, the agent on the ground had opened his eyes when he had heard his name. He couldn't figure out who Ethan was speaking to at first, but when his eyes fell on Kumaskoff he froze.

The scene from six years ago replayed in his head, only this time the roles were reversed. Instead of protecting the helpless agent on the ground from the crazy drug dealer, _he_ was now the helpless agent on the ground. And he remembered all too clearly how it had ended the last time. They had made it out of there, yes, but he had been shot and Kumaskoff had escaped in the process.

And if history were to repeat itself, Brandt somehow knew what was going to happen. And judging by the pistol in Kumaskoff's hand, he knew he was right. He couldn't let Ethan get shot because of him. Ethan was the one who had come all the way along with Jane and Benji to rescue him. He couldn't bear the thought of something happening to one of them just because of him. He needed to help. He needed to get Ethan out of harm's way. But his body refused to cooperate with him and no matter how much he tried; he couldn't muster to energy it took to even speak up. All he could do was watch as the inevitable started to unfold.

"If you want him, you can come and take him," Ethan said and shrugged his shoulders, his arms still raised innocently and resting on top of his head.

"Of course," Kumaskoff smiled for a second before his face turned into stone. "No, if you want to get out of here without a bullet between your eyes, I suggest you bring him over here." He turned his head, knowing Ethan couldn't just hand over his agent like that, and yet he didn't give him a choice.

The older agent turned slowly and crouched next to his fallen team member and was surprised to see him awake and alert. Well, almost alert anyway. Ethan's apologetic eyes met Brandt's tired orbs. Brandt looked him straight in his eyes for a moment before he nodded slowly. Ethan frowned for a short second before everything clicked into place and he understood.

He grabbed him and helped him stand. Supporting Brandt's weight, both agents walked closer to the impatient Russian. When they got within five feet of him, Brandt suddenly lunched forward and with the help of Ethan's push he collided with the drug dealer, knocking him into the ground. He then rolled away from where he lay on top.

Ethan took action immediately and jumped on top of Kumaskoff, who was still shocked over the unexpected attack. He started hitting him with clenched fists as the anger grabbed a hold of his mind. For every injury on Brandt, Kumaskoff got a punch. And there was many.

But Kumaskoff answered back. He managed to free his arms and push Ethan backwards and away from him. Both men quickly stood up and eyed each other silently. Ethan struck first and lashed out with his right fist. Kumaskoff blocked and returned with a fist that sent Ethan flying backwards. He quickly shook it off though and was ready when Kumaskoff charged. They took turns exchanging blows and kicks that landed perfectly on each other. When Ethan kicked Kumaskoff in the chest and he flew backwards, Ethan spared a second to look at where Brandt lay, unmoving. His back was still moving up and down though. The short distraction was all it took for Kumaskoff, as he charged forward. He landed a solid hit on Ethan's cheek before he kneed him in the stomach. A second later he kicked the same location with his foot and Ethan reeled back and collided hard with the wall behind him.

Coughing, Ethan tried to pick himself up, but only made it to all fours when Kumaskoff's boot pressed down on his back and he landed on the ground again. He looked up at the drug dealer with hatred and saw the gun was back in his hands. He was breathing as hard as Ethan was.

"You had your chance, agent Hunt. There are no more chances," Kumaskoff said, his stone eyes glaring into Ethan's.

Ethan felt all of his previous energy leave him and he knew there was nothing more he could do. He had failed Brandt.

But before Kumaskoff could even pull the trigger Brandt leapt from out of nowhere and knocked the Russian to the side. He landed on top of him like before, but this time he didn't roll away. Instead he launched his own series of punches. But it took a lot of energy and soon his fists held no more power than a blowing wind. Kumaskoff took advantage of that and pushed Brandt to the side. He rolled until he came to a stop at the far wall. He used the support to pull himself up. Kumaskoff was already on him, sending a fist into his cheek that snapped his head to the side. He slammed Brandt into the wall and the air left Brandt's lungs. Then the Russian tried to hit him again, but this time Brandt blocked it and used the block to get an opening. He hit Kumaskoff so hard the man fell several steps and barely contained his balance.

Brandt didn't let him breathe for one second as he hit him again. With the drug dealer temporarily stunned, Brandt ran towards the place where Kumaskoff's gun had slid to. He only made it two steps before he was grabbed by the legs and tackled to the ground. He turned and saw Kumaskoff on the ground with a fierce hold of his feet. He twisted free a single foot which he brought up and smashed into the Russian's head. The grip was released and he scrambled to his feet. He ran for all his might, his hands outstretched. He heard the footsteps running behind him and he knew Kumaskoff would soon be on him.

He found the final burst of energy and reached the fallen weapon. He grabbed the handle and spun around in one single motion and fired two shots. They hit the charging Russian in the chest and he halted mid-run. Kumaskoff stared at the two holes in his body, red blood gushing out, before he turned his gaze to the agent before him. He blinked sluggishly a single time, before he crumbled to the ground, dead.

Ethan placed his hand on the wall to the drag himself up from his position and looked over at Brandt. He was still standing with the gun aimed in his hands, the barrel pointed to Kumaskoff. His eyes were big and his breathing ragged, his chest moving up and down in a rapid pace.

"Brandt?" Ethan tryingly said.

Brandt looked up at him for a short second before he turned his gaze back to the dead Russian on the ground. His hands shook violently and the gun dropped to the ground with a clatter. He swayed as the room spun around him and he lost his balance. Ethan was at his side within seconds and caught him before he hit the dirty floor. "It's okay, I got you," Ethan assured and tried to smile at the agent, even though he felt like doing everything else but smiling.

Brandt just looked at him with frantic eyes and his hand reached up and grabbed a tight hold on Ethan's shirt. Ethan grabbed a similar, but much weaker hold on Brandt's shoulder. "I got you, it's okay, I got you …" he repeated over and over, even when Brandt's eyes drifted shut and his tight hold weakened slightly.

The door Ethan had tried to get to, opened suddenly and let in rainforest-warmth and sunlight. Benji and Jane peeked through with their guns drawn. They looked dirtier and more distressed than before, with a few cuts on both of their faces. They first eyed the lifeless body of Jolan Kumaskoff before turning to them.

"It's all clear," Jane stated breathlessly.

Ethan leaned his head back and sighed in relief. He had never been happier to see the two of them and couldn't wait to get out of this hell-hole. When he looked down at his breathing and unconscious agent, he knew Brandt shared that feeling.

* * *

_**Location: Washington DC**_

The secure hospital in Washington was just like any other hospital in the states. It smelled sterile and you could almost feel the touch of death that lurked around every corner. The only difference was that almost every visitor carried a gun and the patients were mostly stubborn trained agents who refused to cooperate.

After rescuing Brandt from the compound in Peru, the team had hid out in Julio's house for a few hours before they called in the events to the IMF. While calling for an immediate extraction, they had also called for a clean-up crew who would take care of the remains of the base and make sure Kumaskoff was dead and his ideas and connections were gone forever.

When they arrived at the hospital, Brandt had been whisked away and while Jane and Benji had used the hours of waiting for catch up on some sleep, Ethan had used the time to explain everything to the Secretary; how they had found Brandt; who had done it; why there was a breach in the IMF; and most importantly, that it was now safe again. He had to repeat the last bit over and over again though, and continue to build that statement with actual evidence. But eventually, everything died down. All they needed now was to see their missing friend.

Benji, Jane and Ethan had all been lucky and escaped with only minor bumps and bruises. Brandt, on the other hand, had not been so fortunate. He had suffered a severe concussion from continuous beatings, extreme dehydration and exhaustion along with some small internal bleeding that the doctors manage to fix before it got out of hand. He had developed a fever from a starting infection in the knife wounds, several of his ribs were either broken or cracked and lastly he was covered in bruises. It would take some time, but they had been told he was going to heal.

When the three worn down agents entered the room, the agent inside was asleep. The lights had been toned down so the light wouldn't hurt his still aching head and the blinding in front of the windows was rolled down, though right now it didn't matter since the moonlight wasn't bright enough to fill the room with light. Brandt's skin was almost as pale as the sheets he was lying on and what wasn't grayish white was a sickly purple color. Bandages coved his wrists and the ones on his chest made the hospital gown he was wearing puff up slightly. A nasal cannula had been inserted into his nose, providing him with a little extra oxygen and an IV was feeding him much-needed fluids. A blue blanket covered him from the waist down. His slow and steady breathing was the only sound that filled the quiet room. All three agents each settled on a chair and kept the sleeping IMF-agent company, even though he didn't register it.

* * *

When Brandt woke up, it was only Ethan who was in the room. Jane and Benji had gone home, or more ordered home, to get cleaned up and get a descent night's sleep. Ethan, though, was very persistent about staying with Brandt; he was determined to be there when the younger agent woke up. And he did.

He first moved his head around slowly, before he groggily pried his eyes open. He blinked a few times and looked around, before his tired eyes landed on the team leader, who was looking at him anxiously. When he saw the lucid and clear look in Brandt's hazel orbs, he smiled happily. Despite the pale and bruise-covered skin, he looked more like the agent he met in Russia than the one he rescued in the base in Peru.

"Welcome back, Brandt."

Brandt simply blinked and nodded a single time, before asking with a fragile voice: "Where are the others?" He winced slightly when talking hurt his sore throat.

"I sent them home …"

"Did they look as bad as you do?" Brandt said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Ethan smiled and leaned forward, supporting his upper body as he rested his arms on his legs. "No, they looked more like you actually. I considered admitting them in here with you."

This time a smile rolled over Brandt's lips, though it only lasted a small second before he turned his head away and sighed. The silence spread between the two men. Brandt was surprisingly the first one to break it.

"Kumaskoff is dead, isn't he?" he asked, when he looked back at Ethan again.

"You don't remember?"

"I remember a fight and pulling a trigger … Is he dead? Did I kill him?" Brandt hated how hopeful his voice sounded, but he found he couldn't cover it. And even if he could, he wouldn't try.

"Yeah, Brandt. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore," Ethan reassured. He might have been as relieved about that fact as Brandt was.

Despite the good news, Brandt didn't celebrate at all. Instead he asked the other question that nagged him since Ethan stepped through the door of his cell.

Brandt closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly through his nose a single time, before a smile spread out on his lips. His chest started to vibrate and a small laugh tore through his teeth. He winced immediately when the movements sent pain throughout his body, but he couldn't stop laughing. It all seemed so absurd, that Kumaskoff was gone from this world forever. His laughter seemed contagious as Ethan suddenly couldn't hold it in any longer. His shoulders started to shake as he laughed along with his fellow agent.

It lasted for a minute before Brandt had to stop when the pain became too much. The two men slowly calmed down and it got quiet again. Then Brandt frowned when he remembered the question that had nagged his mind since Ethan stepped through that door in his prison. He had been too weak and tired to ask it at the time, but now seemed like a good time as any.

"Why did you come for me?" he asked.

Ethan's smile vanished and he frowned when he realized Brandt wasn't kidding. His eyes were serious as could be, and he demanded a real answer.

"You didn't think we would just leave you behind, did you?" Ethan asked. He was stunned and a little hurt that Brandt would even consider that.

The agent swallowed before he answered. "Honestly, I did. It was just like six years ago. There was no help and no back-up … no way to escape."

"You are right, Brandt: it was just like six years ago," Ethan said. "Therefore you should know it. We never leave a team member behind."

Brandt looked down and focused on the floor. After many excruciating seconds he finally looked up again, smiling at the older agent. "Thank you, Ethan."

Ethan smirked and placed a hand on Brandt's shoulder and squeezed it lightly, mindful of his injuries. "Don't mention it, Brandt."

A silence spread between them. Even when Brandt's eyelids started to drop, Ethan didn't leave. He stayed even as the agent fell asleep. He saw how Brandt's features relaxed and evened out. He saw how one more nightmare had been removed and replaced with more calmer and pleasant dreams.

* * *

**Yeah, the end was kind of cheesy and all, but it was truly the best I could do. Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed every chapter and stay tuned for more! I am currently brainstorming the next story in this universe, but let's see when that is going to get posted. I have school and work to think about and it is taking up a lot of time right now. But eventually there will be another story, so keep your eyes trained after another. And for the final note: (it is a bit early, but …) MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR! STAY SAFE! :D**

**Oh! And happy apocalypse! ;)**

**Crimescenelover is out!  
**


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